No Simple Story
by Fairady
Summary: A few unrelated drabbles about the movies.
1. Toymaker

Disclaimer: I neither own nor make any claims on the characters or ideas of Hellraiser. Please forgive my presumption in writing these bits.

Warnings: None really. A lot less than should be expected from the series.

Notes: Done for an LJ interest challenge. Hellraiser is one of my interests, and this is the drabble that came out for it.

Toymaker  
by Fairady

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When the Baron had left the shop his words had rung clear in Lemarchand's mind. There was no doubt in him that this puzzle box would be his greatest creation, and he laughed loudly at the exhilaration. He spun his wife around the store already hearing the faint melody the box would play. She'd scolded him severely for it, telling him not to get ahead of himself. It couldn't be his greatest creation if he did not even have the plans for it.

He had not the words or the heart to explain otherwise. She would see it soon enough, of that he was certain. The orders for materials were drafted and sent out that very day. A few precious hours were lost as he agonized between using silver or gold for the finer details. In the end he ordered both, what was not used could always be put to use elsewhere after all.

The plans took shape that very night. The delicate machine that would play music, the detailed workings on the face of the box. It splayed out in his mind projecting though his eyes onto the smooth skin of his wife beneath him. Her breathy moans incorporated seamlessly into the melody that had grown more complicated.

He did not sleep at all, too busy laying out the intricate gears of the inner box, and shaping the wood pieces around it. The night was spent in a series of conscious and half-conscious planning. When the first ray of sun touched his window he did not even bother waking his wife.

By the time she made her way to the workroom several hours later he had already finished his plans. The sheets rustled as her thin fingers brushed lightly over the design. He waited patiently, writing notes down for the melody already certain there would need to be two separate cylinders. The silence drew his attention back to his wife. She looked up from the paper, eyes brighter than anything he'd ever seen and smiled.

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	2. Consequences

Disclaimer: I neither own nor make any claims on the characters or ideas of Hellraiser. Please forgive my presumption in writing these bits.

Warnings: Spoilers for Inferno.

Notes: Done for the LJ interest challenge. Pure speculation on my part, but I rather like the tone of it.

Consequences  
by Fairady

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The box sat untouched on the dresser.

It's black lacquered surface still glossy despite the fine layer of dust that had gathered around -but not on, never on- it. Kirsty had tried hiding it away at first, deep in the closet under clothes not hers, but the compelling _need _to make sure it hadn't disappeared forced her to pull it out. Put her hands on it to make sure it was still there. Not in someone else's hands, and not in any other shape than a closed box.

Now, everyday she would wake up and look at it. Just to reassure herself that it was still there, and that no doors had been opened while she slept. It was a comfort that allowed her to continue through her day normally in a well established routine.

Get up, eat, shower, dress, go to work, avoid the still buzzing reporters, ignore the whispers and looks, go home, smile at the officer who kept the media vultures away, eat, clean, and go to sleep. It's a routine, well established by the second month and comforting in it's repetitiveness. It kept her occupied enough to not think much as time slipped through her fingers.

Every night she would sit on the bed and look at the box. Looked and thought. She thought about passion, pain, coincidence, and deals. All of it spinning together in her mind in ways most would call her insane for. But Kirsty knew what the face of insanity looked like, and what looked back at her from the black depths of the box was the harsh features of truth.

As the months passed she would stay up longer each night. Her thoughts growing more twisted and dark with each passing day. Each night spent staring while one hand rubbed the growing bulge of her stomach.

To her credit, she never made the unforgivable mistake of hoping.

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	3. Letters

Disclaimer: I neither own nor make any claims on the characters or ideas of Hellraiser. Please forgive my presumption in writing these bits.

Warnings: None really. A lot less than should be expected from the series.

Notes: Done after watching the first two movies with commentary on, again. Longer than I originally wanted it to be, but that's what happens I guess.

Letters  
by Fairady

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They kept in touch long after they had drifted apart.

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_Kirsty-_

_The weather has just been awful recently. It's impossible to step outside without getting soaked to the bone, and the cold just makes it absolutely miserable. I can't wait for winter to be over. How is it where you are, my friend?_

_Miserably,_  
_Tiff_

_._

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Years after Channard and his meddling they still talked as if they were no more than a few streets away.

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_Kirsty-_

_The store is doing quite well now. I've finally gotten to the point where I can afford to hire employees. It seems that once people have gotten past the idea that games aren't just for children they're quite eager to buy. I've met someone, his name is Gregory. I think we might hit it off quite nicely. You should meet him sometime._

_Sincerely,_  
_Tiff_

_._

_.  
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Even when she had locked herself away from the world, the nightmares too much to handle, they still wrote to each other.

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_Kirsty-_

_We're recovering from the holiday madness right now. The store looks bare at the moment so I hope the shipment of games comes in soon. I think Greg is planning on proposing to me. He's been very secretive and has been asking my employees about my schedule._

_Sincerely,_  
_Tiff_

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They had never kept anything from each other in their letters, sometimes it was the only time they ever spoke the truth.

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_Kirsty-_

_That's fantastic! Oh, your Trevor sounds like such a charmer, I'm glad that he's been so good to you. I'm afraid Greg and I are in the middle of a tiff right now. Money problems mostly. He wants to spend more than we have for the wedding. I have to keep talking him down from his plans and he gets upset over it. The store is doing good, but we simply cannot afford some of the things he has planned. You will come though won't you? I miss you, and another voice of reason would be much appreciated right now._

_Best wishes,_  
_Tiff_

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The problem was that "keeping in touch" was not the same as being there for each other.

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_Kirsty-_

_My dear friend, I have an awful confession to make. I said nothing before because I knew it would worry you unduly. Dr. Channard's collection went on auction a few years back. Everything he had was sold, including the puzzle boxes. Don't panic, no one unsuspecting took them._

_Love,_  
_Tiffany_

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"Keeping in touch" all but guaranteed that some things would not be mentioned until it was far too late.

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_Kirsty-_

_You are far too paranoid and suspicious. Rightly so though, I did buy the lot. I could barely afford it, but it was for the best. At least in my hands I know that the box will do no more harm. Trust me in this, my dear. Nothing will happen._

_Love,_  
_Tiffany_

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Kirsty arrived as the body bags were being taken out of the small store. The crowd of the curious and camera toting press were barely held back as the van left the scene. She stayed long enough to learn the body count was at five and rising as the police moved further into the store and the house it was attached to.

She didn't sleep that night, or on the flight back home. The nightmares could wait until she was in her own familiar bed with Trevor only a phone call away. Her boyfriend always had ways to keep her from dwelling on the past.

The letter sitting on her table proved that she'd been right to wait. Trevor hadn't asked any questions when she called, and Kirsty did not think about anything but the way their skin stuck together for the rest of the night.

Trevor slept soundly in the morning, never waking as Kirsty buried the unopened letter in a box of keepsakes she tried her best to forget about.

Forgetting was a problem as well, though not nearly as much as self-denial had been. The emptiness of the apartment after Trevor's belongings had been disposed of was revealing. Most of Kristy s own belongings had to be dragged out of boxes stored in the closets.

Tiffany's last letter was sandwiched between her father's last will and testament and the paperwork from the bank detailing the accounts she's never touched.

Kirsty isn't surprised when opening the letter to smell the faint odor of old blood. She can't be surprised by it anymore, not when it is a smell she has become so familiar with. The letter is faded and smeared but still legible.

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_Kirsty-_

_You are right as always. I won't explain myself, you should know the reasons as well as I do if you'd stop lying to yourself. I miss you, my dearest friend. I will see you in hell when your time comes._

_With my love,_  
_Tiffany_

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_

She folds the letter back up, ignoring the dark flakes that drift from the paper. There is truth in Tiffany's words, and Kirsty knows that she will see her old friend again. The only question in the matter is in how long it will be before she does.

Kirsty Cotton had never been one to give in the inevitable with good grace after all. A flaw of her character that had allowed her to live long enough to figure a way out of trouble. She has time now, her whole life if she wishes, to find a way to turn this inevitability to her own advantage.

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	4. Huntress

Disclaimer: I own not and make no money off of this.

Warnings: None that aren't already inherent.

Notes: Rewatched the movie, and thought about this at the scene where Julia is relaxing after a kill with a glass of brandy. She stares so intently and then a slow, smile spreads across her face. She's enjoying the hell out of herself for some reason.

Huntress  
by Fairady

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Julia was the bait, the hook, the killer.

It was her looks that brought them in. A beauty sitting at a bar, keeping company with no one else but her own glass. Utterly harmless and completely enticing. They came to her one by one. With a drink for her and smiles that ranged from confident to nervous. She gave them all the same smile. Small and inviting, getting them to sit down and talk for a bit. Have a few more drinks and flirt around the subject they had in mind from the moment they saw her.

Their desires made them fall straight into her trap. They wanted to fuck her. Each and every last one of them did. Even the ones who never said it outright, who played the pleasant talking game until their nerve gave out and they drifted away. The lucky ones. The unlucky ones played right into Julia's hands. Touching her side, her face, or even her chest for the brazen ones. Following her home without question to the dusty attic room where nothing waited them but a hammer and Frank's voracious appetite.

It was her hand that killed them. For all that Frank did, he was still too weak to do more than walk. It would be too easy for any of them to hurt him and destroy all the hard work she'd done to heal him. Setting them back in a way they couldn't afford. Not with Frank insisting there would be a pursuit, and not when she was finally so close to having what she wanted.

She also cleaned up after Frank was done with his meals. Picking up the terribly light husks that used to be human and hiding them away from Larry and the rest of the world. Disposing of them quietly, piece by tiny piece, when she thought she could get away with it. Cleaning up any blood that might have spilled before it could soak through the floor to the room below.

It was a lot of work for one woman. Julia found herself looking forward to it though. Looking forward to the hunt, because it _was_ a hunt, and it's inevitable end. Frank might eat the prey she brought down, but the payoff for her would be sweeter in the end. When Frank was finally whole.

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	5. Witchy Woman

Disclaimer: I own not and make no money off of this.

Warnings: None.

Notes: Even before things really got started for her, Kirsty seemed to be an interesting person to them all. Random thought here that it's something inherited from her mother. Some quality that gets her entangled and keeps drawing her back.

Witchy Woman  
by Fairady

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_Kirsty._ Frank had forgotten his niece. The little girl he hadn't seen since Larry's wedding so long ago. The little girl who had still called her Daddy after a bad dream.

A bad dream on the day he came back.

He never met her mother. The woman was a moth, alive and then dead faster than word could travel. From what little he knew she was a witchy sort of woman. Either that witchiness went on to Kirsty or the girl's dream was a coincidence.

Frank had learned the hard way that there was no such thing as coincidences though. Not in this world or any of the others. Everything that happened, happened for a reason. The Order taught him that much.

Dear Kirsty's bad dream had a reason, and it meant that his escape hadn't gone as unnoticed as he'd hoped it would. He didn't like it. Didn't like it one bit.

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End file.
